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"So what did you tell them?" my mom says, breaking the silence sitting between us. Her fork is suspended in the air, a shiny piece of kale spiked on the end. It's the first time she's brought up the fact that I've talked to the detectives separately—that they made a point to get me alone.

"About what?"

"About Evie," she says, as if that should explain what she means entirely. "Obviously."

"I don't know," I reply. "I told them the truth. What I know about her. Her personality. The same things you told them, I'm sure."

"Did they ask you about me?" she says. "About how she feels about me?"

So maybe she was listening then. Or trying to.

I wait a beat, searching for desperation on her face. Fear. But all I see is that same damn inexplicable glow. Like even now, she's somehow still carrying something good inside her, something bright.

"I just told them the truth," I say again.

She blinks at me, waiting.

"I said she's eighteen and you're her mom. And that you work together, too," I explain. "That things can get messy."

"Messy, Hazel?" she says, setting the fork down. "Really?"

"All I said was that you manage her career like, well, a manager would, and that sometimes Evie doesn't exactly love that," I say. "Buxton seems to think you're doing a great job at it, for what it's worth."

She shakes her head, pausing to twist her hair into a gold claw clip, only to let it fall and repeat the motion immediately, a nervous tic she's had for as long as I can remember. "Oh, I'm sure you were very quick to correct him there. Did you share a theory about how Erin Davis forced her daughter into some horrible situation she couldn't come back from, didn't protect her? Did you bring up the push-up bra story then and there, or are you saving it to leak to the press?"

I roll my eyes. The push-up bra story. Really?

It had happened a couple years ago. Evie was sixteen, and I had been back from New York for almost a year. I was lying in bed scrolling when I saw the photo on Instagram, two images posted back-to-back. Evie and my mom standing in a giant walk-in closet, both wearing the same type of bra. My mom in a half-open robe, reaching for a hanger, Evie in sweatpants. Both of them laughing, their matching cleavage angled toward the camera. The caption said something about how getting ready together is one of their favorite things to do, how having the right foundation to any outfit makes everything easier, "no matter what your body type is!" I knew what they were trying to do. It was the peak of the "one item on two different body types" trend, though I didn't quite understand how they thought that angle made sense when one person was a 34DDD and the other person was a 36D. That wasn't the thing about it that bothered me, though, or that made me call my mom for the first time in weeks and ask her what the fuck she was thinking.

"It's like catnip for perverts, Mom," I said. "What could you have possibly been thinking letting her do this? Is this even legal?"

"It's a bra, Hazel." My mom sighed. "Not a negligee. Sixteen-year-olds wear bras. Not everyone is as small chested as you were at that age."

"She's sixteen," I said, ignoring the barb. "You literally did a half-naked Mommy and me photo shoot with your underage daughter…and then posted it for millions of people to see. Do you know the kinds of fucked-up internet forums these pictures will end up on?"

"You know I can't control any of that, honey." She sighed. "People like that have existed since the beginning of time. If it wasn't these pictures, they'd find others."

"Well, actually, you can control some things," I said. "You can say no to shit like this pretty easily, actually. Do it yourself and leave Evie out of it."

She sighed again. "You're making this into a much bigger thing than it is."

The phone was on speaker, and I scrolled back to read the comments. "?‘Wowza. Someone's all grown up!'?" I read aloud. "?‘Not sure which one I'm into more now, tbh.'?" Bile was rising in my throat as I tried to keep my tone measured, serious. "This isn't fair to her. There have to be boundaries."

She laughed then. "I swear, your generation is always talking about hypersexualizing women just for existing…and then you lose your mind over stuff like this. It's basically the equivalent of a bikini."

She was right. There was arguably more fabric on the bra than some bathing suits Evie had worn in photos she'd posted. So why did this feel so different?

"Besides, your sister wanted this campaign. She insisted on it, really," my mom went on.

I hesitated. Evie had wanted this? Who would want to be photographed shirtless at sixteen? While wearing matching outfits with their mom? What amount of money could possibly make that worth it, especially if she was splitting it with my mom? That was how I thought money worked for them then, at least.

When I didn't respond, my mom kept talking.

"Here," she said. "Ask her yourself."

There's a pause, and then my sister's voice comes through the speaker.

"Hey, Haze," she said. "What's up?"

"This Instagram post…the bras?" I started, suddenly conscious that I felt awkward talking about this with my sister. Do I really need to get into the details? I thought. To explain how fucking weird this was? Did I need to put all of that on her if she wasn't already thinking about all of that in the first place? "It feels…off."

I heard the familiar sound of the back door closing, birdsong floating in the background. She had gone outside. Away from Mom?

"Yeah, I had a feeling you wouldn't be a fan," she said quietly.

"Mom said you insisted on doing it?" I pushed. "It doesn't even really seem like your aesthetic or anything? Am I missing something?"

She inhaled deeply, then lowered her voice. "Yeah, I can't say it was my favorite thing in the world. I'm honestly afraid to even read the comments. And for the shit I'm about to get from my friends at school."

"So then why?" I asked. "Did she pressure you? Is that what this is? You need to tell me if that's what's happening here, Ev. It's not okay."

"No," she said quickly. "It's not that."

"So? Then what?"

"They pitched it to both of us," she began. "Mom was all in immediately, obviously—you know that the brand deals really haven't been the same for her in the past few years. That things have dropped off. It's a huge name brand. They had a huge budget. This was going to be the first five-figure post Mom had gotten in a while—maybe all year. She was thrilled. I passed on it, said I was too busy with other projects, which was true…but when the brand found out I wasn't willing to do the campaign with her, they started to back out altogether."

This was the first time that Evie had confirmed what I had assumed for a while—that the money wasn't the same for my mom as it had been, or at least that it didn't compare anymore to what Evie was making. I had watched my mom's spending from afar, the aspirational lifestyle remaining mostly the same, but I knew that didn't mean much. So much of that, right down to the Botox, was from the endless stream of free products she could wield. A post for a new couch. A post for a new fridge. A post for a new face.

But I had also seen the way Evie had blown up on TikTok. How natural it had been, and how my mom never managed to find her footing there. Her videos felt forced, awkward. Her longtime followers on Instagram and YouTube followed her because of her and Evie's story—the way they had been attached at the hip for all those years. These followers loved to see them together now, to check in and see what they looked like now, if they were successful, happy. But Evie's audience was different. Many of them didn't even know about our mom, or the viral video that started it all. About our dad. They just knew that everyone else followed Evie Davis, so they did, too. Mom may have had nostalgia going for her, but Evie had everything.

"So, what?" I pressed. "You backtracked? Said you'd do it, anyway?"

Evie sighed. "I saw how upset Mom was…how embarrassed. It was like she was disappointed that I wasn't doing the campaign, yeah, but even more disappointed that she needed me for it. That she wasn't a big enough get on her own anymore."

I hated that Evie felt this way. It reminded me so much of my own childhood that it made me feel dizzy. I knew exactly how heavy it was to believe that your parent's happiness was your job.

"So I changed my mind and told her it made sense to do it. A huge name brand. The potential for a long-term partnership. Made up some shit about maybe how it would go viral, get picked up by People or something. I don't know. It was just a few photos. I could handle it," she said. "Mom asked if I was sure a few times, but I did insist, yeah. She seemed genuinely relieved. It was fine. It is fine."

"Is it?" I asked.

"Come on, Hazel," she said. "I don't want to do this right now."

I had tried to pick my battles with Evie over the years, to push back on content and career decisions as rarely as possible. I was determined not to be the out-of-touch, judgmental older sister, not to assume she didn't have agency in her career, even though I knew that she never really had a choice. If she thought she did, then what did my opinion matter? Why burst that bubble for her? But this was different.

"You have to set boundaries with her, Evie," I insisted. "This is something that should never have been on the table for either of you. You're too young. It's too weird. I hate it."

"Shocking." She laughed.

"You should have called me. If I was there, I would have made sure this didn't happen," I said.

"But you weren't." Evie laughed again. "You haven't been for, like, basically forever. It's Mom and me, on our own, figuring it out. Same as it's been since I was eight."

I swallowed, stung by her honesty.

"Look, I love you, Haze," she said, her voice softer. "I do. I know you want the best for me. But you can't bring your and Mom's shit into everything I do. And you can't look down at me from a million miles away and say you know better, like you somehow see it all more clearly than I do."

Yes, I can,I wanted to say. I see it all, everything you can't. But I stayed quiet.

"When it comes to Mom, to this kind of stuff…the bottom line is that I wouldn't have any of this without her," she added.

"Yeah," I said. "I know. That's my whole point."

I should have left it at that, but when she didn't reply for a beat, I kept going.

"I know you, Ev," I said quietly. "You're better than all of this."

"Thanks for that," she replied. "Look, I've gotta go."

And then she hung up.

We didn't talk for weeks after that, the longest we had gone in years. Eventually, I apologized, said I didn't know what I was talking about. That I couldn't speak on an industry I'm not part of. That she was free to do whatever she wants. We moved on. My mother still brought it up, though, whenever she thought I was criticizing her parenting skills. I wondered if on a certain level, it was because she still felt guilty. Because maybe she knew why Evie had changed her mind and agreed to do the photos all along. Because she felt so pathetic about that that she had to deflect somehow. But she'd never tell me any of that, of course.

"I didn't bring up anything specific," I say now, staring at the far end of the table, where my mother is still sitting, her salad bowl pushed forward, signaling that she's done. "I told them you were close. Are close," I correct myself, embarrassed.

This had been happening more and more in the past two days, my body slipping into past tense when talking about Evie. It's like something in my brain has registered the span of her absence, the way it's stretching, before I can.

Like my brain is trying to prepare me for the truth that with each passing minute, the possibility that she is gone for good is more realistic than the possibility that she's still out there somewhere, living in the present tense.

My mother's expression doesn't change.

"And that you and I are not?" she asks.

The doorbell rings then, and I look down at my phone. It's after eight now, and neither of us had been expecting the detectives to stop by today.

"Did you order something?" I ask my mom, who shakes her head no, though I notice that she doesn't look entirely surprised, or even worried really. Was she expecting something else?

She makes her way to the door and I trail a few feet behind her. When my mother opens the door, both Buxton and Williams are standing there, and I feel my whole body tighten. They both look somewhat flustered, but serious, and I know in my gut that this is bad. This has to be bad.

"Hi?" I say.

"Is everything okay?" My mother cuts right to the chase.

Neither of the detectives answer right away, and I feel panic start to rise in my chest, hot and swirling.

Is this it? Have they found her? Are they about to tell us to sit down before they deliver the news? Am I standing smack-dab in the worst moment of my life?

"Well, frankly ma'am, no," Buxton says, stepping into the entryway.

His tone is colder than it's been in the past. No hint of flirtation. No "Mrs. Davis," no "Erin."

My brain whirs, running through a Rolodex of a million horrible headlines about young women dying horrible deaths. All the different possibilities for violence and terror and pain. I want to kick myself, hit myself. One hard punch in the gut. How could I have been so stupid? So naive to have let my guard down? Every part of being a woman in this world has taught me that there are things to fear. It's suddenly so clear to me that I forgot. That I had let myself be gaslit into thinking that it was all paranoia, exaggeration, the result of a million hours of consuming true crime in podcasts, television. If only I had trusted myself, then maybe this wouldn't be happening. Then maybe I wouldn't be about to learn that my sister is—

"We don't have any news about Evie," Williams cuts in, in a way that feels like she's correcting her partner, like she's the only one who realizes the conclusion that we must have jumped to, or the only one who cares that we might have, anyway. "Nothing has changed there. We came back because we received…"

I take a deep breath.

"We received a link to a podcast." Buxton finishes his partner's sentence.

This…this is not what I expect them to say.

"What?" I snap.

I look at my mom, and her expression is completely neutral. Why isn't she confused, too?

"What are you talking about? What kind of podcast?" I ask again.

Neither of the detectives are looking at me, though. Their eyes, instead, are fixed in front of me, staring knowingly at my mother.

Why isn't she saying anything? Why do they keep looking at her like that?

She stands up straighter, crossing her arms in front of her, and it feels defiant.

"Maybe you should ask your mother that," Buxton says to me, but he's still staring at her, too. I can't shake the feeling that he feels personally slighted here, that he felt like the two of them had some sort of rock-solid understanding and she's betrayed it. It makes me pity him, almost.

"Well, Hazel, it seems we're about to get a very stern talking to, from the looks of it," she says, turning back toward the kitchen.

We?

I shoot a look at the detectives to let them know I have no idea what she's talking about. What they're talking about.

"Sit, please. Sit down," she says to the detectives, waving them to walk across the living room to the kitchen table. She grabs a pitcher of water from the fridge and nods toward the remains of the salad on the counter. "Water, anyone? Salad?"

Williams and Buxton exchange a glance, and they look uneasy. They don't understand why she's acting like this, and neither do I. They both shake their heads.

She shrugs. "Suit yourself."

I don't understand anything about what's happening here.

"So," Williams starts, her fingers forming a steeple in front of her. "The podcast."

"What about it?" my mother says.

"I thought we discussed the importance of keeping the investigation insular, just for right now—" Williams starts.

"You honestly expected me to, what?" my mom cuts her off. "Protect you all forever? Not use the platform I spent my entire life building? Not do everything in my power personally to find Evie? Please."

What has she done?

"I had no possible way of knowing it would go like that," she adds.

I suddenly feel claustrophobic, nauseous. I swear I can feel the kale disintegrating into acid inside my stomach. I need air.

I walk outside and pull my phone out of my pocket, quickly googling a series of words that bring me to what I'm looking for almost immediately.

For the rest of the time the detectives are there, I sit outside, listening to the podcast from start to finish. Twice. In the end, the only thing that is clear to me is that if the world wasn't already suspicious of my mother, of her involvement in Evie's disappearance, of her character—they definitely are now.

Episode 349: "The Mysterious Appearance and Disappearance of Evelyn Davis" |Darker: A True Crime Podcast

August:Trust us, the SquatPot is going to change your life. You will never go to the bathroom the same way again. And that's a good thing. Use the code DARKER10 for 10 percent off your first order from SquatPot. That's D-A-R-K-E-R-1-0. Now back to our episode.

Kira:So, look, we've been building up the anticipation behind this reveal for a long time now…so let's just do it. We want to go ahead and welcome Erin Davis, Evie Davis's mother, to Darker today. She's going to be telling us what exactly has been going on in her world, confirming for the first time, exclusively, which rumors about her daughter's absence from social media are true and which aren't.

Kira:Mrs. Davis, welcome to Darker. Thank you so much for talking to us today. Though of course we wish it were under different circumstances.

August:Yes, welcome.

Erin:Hi. Yes. Me too. And you can call me Erin. Please. I'm not that old… [laughs]

Kira:Erin. Sure, yes.

Erin:I'm a huge fan of the podcast, and I just…I honestly feel a little starstruck right now talking to you girls.

Kira:Well…um, thank you. That's very kind. But actually, August is nonbinary, so…

August:My pronouns are they/them.

Erin:Of course they are.

August:Excuse me?

Erin:Oh. I just meant that of course they are, that I should know that. I should have remembered that. I apologize.

Kira:[clears throat] Well. Erin. Let's get right to the reason why you're here today, which are the rumors surrounding your daughter Evie's recent disappearance from social media. I understand you have an official statement you'd like to read.

Erin:Yes, I do. [sniffles] Just give me a minute. This is the first time I've said all of this out loud. It's just…it's a lot.

Kira:I'm sure it is. Take your time.

Erin:Thank you. [takes a deep breath] My daughter Evelyn Davis, or Evie as she's known to most people who love her, has not been seen or heard from in eleven days. Her last known location was a parking lot in Los Angeles, where she broadcasted on TikTok Live from her phone on the afternoon of June 12. Since then, Evie has not posted on any of her social accounts or attempted to make contact with her friends and family, which is completely out of character. We've been working with law enforcement to determine her whereabouts and bring her home safely, and while we thank the detectives for their work and have made some progress in locating her car and cell phone, the leads seem to be diminishing quickly. This is where we need all of your help. We are asking the public to share any and all information on where she could be by visiting FindEvieDavis.com or calling 1-800-FIND-EVIE. There's also a hashtag you can use to share anything you might know, or any tips: #FINDEVIE. We are beside ourselves with worry and desperate to have our friend, daughter, and sister home again. Thank you.

Kira:We really appreciate you choosing Darker to spread the word about what you're going through right now. I think it will help our audience to have as much information as possible about the case thus far. I know they'll want to help as much as they possibly can. But…before we get into that—and I'm sure this is a sensitive subject, so forgive me for being so blunt, but I have to ask…is it true that detectives have instructed you not to speak to the media at this time?

Erin:Yes.

August:So you're actively disobeying law enforcement's advice because…?

Erin:Because the more people who know that Evie is missing, the faster we can find her. Because I'm not going to protect people who don't want a spotlight on their mediocre work, or lack thereof, just because they ask me to. Not anymore, at least.

August:Are you saying that law enforcement isn't doing their job?

Erin:I don't know what they're doing, to be quite honest. We are almost as in the dark as you are. That's why I'm here. To shine a light on all of it. To get answers.

Kira:Let's back up a bit, maybe. Can you walk us through this entire situation, from your point of view? Everything that's happened so far? What's been done to find Evie up to now?

Erin:Gosh, I don't even know where to begin, August.

August:She's Kira. I'm August.

Erin:Right, of course, I'm sorry. I'm just a little flustered. It's been…a journey. It's been overwhelming. That's why Evie's sister couldn't be here today to speak, actually. It's just too much for her. It's been too much for both of us.

August:Hazel, right?

Erin:Yes. Hazel's very private, but she wanted to be here too, very badly—to speak out and demand answers for her sister. In the end, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. So…I'm here, even though it is quite overwhelming.

Kira:Just start wherever is comfortable, Erin.

August:Or at the beginning. Like, waaaay back.

Erin:What do you mean?

August:As in, the beginning of Evie's career. How she ended up on the internet in the first place.

Erin:Oh, well. Sure. If you think that's helpful…

Kira:I think what August means is that it would be beneficial for our audience to understand as much of Evie's life as possible up until this point, from your perspective.

Erin:Well, it does always make me smile to tell the story.

August:Smile? Even given how it all started?

Kira:We're very sorry for your loss, by the way. It's a lot of trauma for one person to endure.

Erin:Thank you. It is. But that's exactly why the entire journey still makes me smile, I think. Being on social media, all of the opportunities we've been blessed with…it all came from the worst moment of our lives. It made it bearable. Almost as if…I don't know…

August:It happened for a reason?

Erin:Exactly.

August:Wow.

Kira:[clears throat] Well. I guess, can you tell us a little bit about Evie, Erin? What she was like then, what she's like now…

August:If she had a choice in any of it, et cetera, et cetera.

Kira:August…

Erin:I don't understand what you're implying by that. If she had a choice?

August:I mean, it's pretty simple. Don't you think that that's part of her story, too? Even now? Especially now? Don't you think that in order to talk about how you're protecting her today, we have to talk about how you've done—or some would say not done—that her entire life?

Erin:If you think that there's literally anything I could force that child to do, you clearly don't know my daughter. [laughs] From the second she was born, she had a mind of her own. She wanted to be in front of the camera. She wanted to perform. To share her personality, her likes, her dislikes, everything, with anyone and everyone who would listen. I couldn't have forced any of it on her if I wanted to—which I never did, for the record. I wanted her to love it all, yes, but she did. She wanted every bit of it.

August:That doesn't mean she could understand what any of it meant at five or six. The implications, the ripple effect of it all. Wanting to be on camera and understanding that footage will be seen by millions of people, by gross old men sitting in their basements…those are different things.

Erin:Look. I don't see how any of this will help find my daughter—that's what I'm here to discuss, nothing else. That is what we agreed to discuss. That's what we talked about.

August:Well, sure, that and how much money you would make from this, right?

Erin:I…

August:I was cc'd on those emails, too. What was the agreement you wanted, again, before you gave us an exclusive? Half of ad revenue? Or was it personal intros to advertisers we landed on instead because, you know, interview ethics?

Erin:This is not appropriate—

Kira:Erin, I apologize. This wasn't what August and I discussed either, was it, August…

August:I mean, someone here has to be honest.

Erin:[laughs]

August:Is something funny?

Erin:Honest. It's an interesting word choice.

Kira:Listen, maybe we should just cut the interview here—

August:No, let her finish. What's funny about it? Tell us. Here's your chance. Your spotlight.

Erin:You really, honestly think you're better than me? Different? Because, what? You're younger? You're woke? Because you know exactly the right charities to donate to in order to distract your audience from the fact that you are capitalizing on the horrors of the world? People's deepest, darkest, most vile miseries? And you want to judge me? How I supported my child's success and fostered her career? You really want to do that while you're advertising fucking bidets as you discuss murder and rape like it's entertainment? Be my guest.

Kira:Erin, this is really not the place to—

Erin:You want to call out my request for revenue sharing? For making the introduction to advertisers? Fine. Then at least be honest about how you both knew what you got with me giving you this exclusive, too. You both know the kind of traffic it would bring. Wasn't it you, Kira, who asked for my statistics and engagement numbers, right after I explained that my daughter had vanished? That she could be in danger. You wanted to know the numbers because you knew you could use it to negotiate a higher ad rate. Or did you conveniently forget that part, too? You people, I swear to God…

August:You people?

Erin:Sorry, was that not the right pronouns, either?

Kira:Well, I think this has gotten a bit out of hand, you two. Let's just stop—

August:No, please. By all means, let's take it from Erin Davis, the expert on parenting. The person who monetized her daughter's most vulnerable years. Do you know that you posted 150 vlogs featuring Evie the year she turned eleven? That in half of those, she's at gymnastics competitions and swim meets and dance recitals? Barely dressed? As someone who seems very aware of statistics, I'm sure you noticed the same correlations I did when I started doing some research. That those are the videos with the most views. The most comments, many of them from men. I'm sure you saw it in real time, sifted through the much uglier feedback from perverts and hid it from what the public could see. And yet…you kept filming. Kept posting. The next year there was even more swim team content, even more gymnastics competitions. You had to fucking know. And yet you kept doing it. So, forgive me if I can't sit here and feel totally bad for you, or ignore the part that you had in exploiting your daughter, the very clear ways it could have something to do with why you're here today. But, you know, sure. Be my guest. Any other advice you'd like to pass along, Erin? To share?

Kira:No, really. I think we should just stop—

Erin:You know, I do have something. My advice would be for the two of you, and anyone else listening and nodding along, to get off the fucking high horse that lets you think you're doing anything other than the same exact thing I am: working with what you have and monetizing it. Oh, and fuck you, too.

Kira:Well, I don't think that's quite the—

August:She's gone, Kira. She left the Zoom.

Kira:Jesus Christ, August.

August:Personally, I think that went great.